


Being in Love Means Always Having to Say You're Sorry (Especially if You're Steve)

by blue_jack



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Crack, M/M, Pining, Sex Toys, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-29
Updated: 2011-09-29
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_jack/pseuds/blue_jack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How do you explain there being a sex doll in your closet?  And not just any sex doll, oh no, a sex doll that looks like me?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being in Love Means Always Having to Say You're Sorry (Especially if You're Steve)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stellarmeadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellarmeadow/gifts).



> For stellarmeadow because I got the idea from something she said, she encouraged me to write it when I would've forgotten about it, and because she's been so welcoming ever since I joined the fandom. Thank you.

Danny glares at the mess he's made of his shirt. It's all he can do to not yell at Steve, even though he's not in the room, because one, it would make him feel better, and two, if he hadn't been fantasizing about the way Steve had answered the door in wet, clingy shorts and nothing else (because he does, too, knock, thank you very much, especially if he sees Steve walking around shirtless through the window and wants to get a little more up close and personal—and he needs to stop thinking about what it would be like to mash his face in Steve's chest, fucking hell), then none of this would've happened.

He growls, setting his coffee mug down on the counter with a _thunk_. His shirt and tie are ruined, and he doesn't even have time to run back home because they have that meeting with the witness, and he knows better than to let Steve go it alone. Once was more than enough. Horror of horrors, he's going to have to wear one of Steve's shirts.

He doesn't bother asking, because he's only got so much willpower, and knocking on the door to the bathroom where Steve is currently showering is just asking for trouble with a capital hard-on. He does yell through the door that he needs a shirt though, because you know, manners, and wonders at the loud crash he hears, but considering it's Steve, hitting his head would just be an improvement, so he keeps on going.

Steve's closet is bigger than his whole fucking apartment, damn it all to hell, and he can only shake his head at some of the gear he sees—he had no idea bullet-proof vests came in that particular shade of purple. He starts sorting through his options, Polo shirt, Polo shirt, oh look, another Polo shirt, T-shirt, T-shir—

"Danny!" Steve comes skidding to a halt at the door of the closet, and Danny hadn't realized a person could do that on carpet. "Let me—"

"Steven? Steven." He tries to think of what else to say after that, but really? He just . . . the mind boggles. "Steven."

"Shit," Steve sighs as he sees what Danny's holding in his hands. "Let me explain."

" _Explain_?" he asks, and just like that, his brain is back online. "How do you explain there being a sex doll— _a sex doll_ —in your closet? And not just any sex doll, oh no, a sex doll that looks like me? Hmm? _Hmm_? _How can you possibly explain that_?" And the worst thing is that is does, _it does_ look like him, sort of, and as far as Danny can tell from its features, it's a _girl_. He gropes the chest just to be sure and yup, the breasts have been taped down. What the ever-loving fuck.

Steve holds up both hands like he _really_ thinks that's going to calm Danny down, the nutwad.

"It was for a case."

He's not even paying attention to the shit that spews from Steve's mouth, because it's bad enough that it's a girl, bad enough that it's wearing a button-down shirt—oh hell, one of _his_ button-down shirts that he'd thought he'd lost, but apparently had been _stolen from his home_ by a lunatic of a Navy SEAL—bad enough that it has _one of his damn ties and he is seriously going to fucking cut a bitch, no lie_ , but it also—

"It has my _hair_!" he gasps, and okay, it’s not really his hair, it’s not like Steve followed him to the guy he goes to and swept up all the cut hair and gluing it together (although, fuck, Danny would not put it past him), but at the same time, it is, _it is_! He grabs the wig, tearing it off with the sound of Velcro peeling apart and shaking it with all his might because he _cannot believe_ that Steve really went there.

"My hair, Steven!" he cries, and he doesn't care how pretty Steve is, some things are sacred, and _he has crossed a motherfucking line_!

"I took a picture of you to this hairdresser," Steve starts to say, like Danny cares _how_ it happened and not that it happened at all.

"I do not fucking care how you did it! What I care about," he shouts, shaking that damn wig like a fucking pom-pom, "is that my hair is on a sex doll! So that anyone could just run their fingers through—"

It's like a light bulb goes off. No, actually it's more like he's been hit with Thor's mighty hammer and all the world is thunder and lightning. Steve has a sex doll. A doll that is used for sex. And it looks like Danny.

 _It looks like Danny._

Cha- _ching_.

Also. Creepy.

It’s one thing to jerk off to thoughts of your partner, he allows magnanimously. It’s something else entirely to create a doll replica of said partner, a doll that can’t ever say ‘no,’ will always be tight in all the right places, and can be contorted into all sorts of crazy positions, and then fuck it.

He wonders if he should be jealous.

No. No! He’s not jealous! He’s furious! He feels degraded! And, and . . .

He stops to consider just what he’s supposed to be feeling, looking up to give Steve the evil eye, and _woah_ , it is a testament to the fuckery of his day that he just now notices that Steve is wet and dripping and wearing only a towel and is wet and dripping—

“—anyway, I just forgot to throw it out.”

—and apparently talking?

“Wait, what?” So many tattoos. He just wants to _bite them_. “Say all that again.”

Steve frowns, which he does not find at all adorable, because, seriously, Steve is a stalker waiting to happen.

“It was for that case where the perp kept sending you threatening letters. We thought we’d try to make a decoy—”

“What? What are you talking about? We did no such thing!”

“Well, the rest of us thought it’d be a good idea.”

Meaning, _Steve_ had thought it’d be a good idea.

“And anyway,” Steve says, acting like none of this is out of the ordinary, and really, _that’s_ how he’s going to play it? “We all had different ideas how to approach it, so everyone was going to put together a Danny look-alike, and we were going see which one was the best.”

“This looks nothing like me!” he yells, his previous thoughts aside, because there’s having a vague resemblance and then there’s trying to fool someone who’s threatening to kill him, and somehow that distinction has seemingly escaped Steve’s notice.

“We wanted to lure him in with your silhouette, so it would’ve been at night, dim lighting, that sort of thing.”

There are so many things wrong with that idea, so many things, and yet . . .

“And where was I through all of this?”

“You were making sure Rachel and Grace were safe.”

He does not understand how it happened, but Steve is starting to make sense, and sure, it’s an insane idea, but this is Steve they’re talking about, and how is this his _life_?

“Okay, okay, but why a blow-up doll? Why not a mannequin or, or—”

“Kono was going to try to find one of those actually, and the doll was because I’d seen them being sold in that store we accidentally broke into a few months ago, so I knew I could get one right away.”

He’s getting such a headache. “Alright, but we didn’t actually go through with that plan.” _Thank fuck_.

“No, we got that lead to his whereabouts instead, so we ditched the decoy idea.” Steve shrugs, and is he starting to feel _disappointed_ that Steve has a semi-rational explanation for all of this? Why, cruel world, why?

“Then why is it still in your closet?” he asks, the wig limp in his hand, and he’s just grasping at straws at this point, but for one stupid happy and rage-filled moment, he’d thought Steve had wanted him back.

“I just forgot about it. I mean, look in there. I keep intending to clean it out—even I don’t need thirty boxes of Uzi rounds anymore since they took mine away from me—but things have been busy, so . . .”

“Fine,” he says flatly, and he doesn’t even care that Steve’s naked underneath his towel. He’s not mad, he’s not, he’s just—he’s not going to think about it actually, not about any of it right now. They have a witness to see, and they’re going to be late if they sit around any longer, and—

Not thinking about it. “At least I have a clean shirt to change into now.”

“Um, you know, why don’t you just borrow one of mine?”

“Why would I do that?” he asks, loosening the tie and yanking it over the thing’s head with more force than necessary.

“That shirt has been sitting in my closet for almost a month now, and it’s all wrinkled and—”

“I’m wearing a damn shirt and tie to work, and you can’t stop me,” he says, and he starts in on the buttons, keeping his eyes on what he’s doing because he just can’t look at Steve, he can’t.

“No, Danny, really, you should—”

“Steven.” Is that—? He leans in for a closer look, and Steve curses behind him. It’s ridiculous that he feels hopeful as he touches the doll’s stomach just to be sure, but he does. “ _Why is it sticky_?”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know, guys.


End file.
